by Toombs, Jane
Martha excused herself and went to the bathroom, where she washed her face, donned a clean shirt and brushed her hair quickly.
When she reentered the bedroom, Jules had taken the cover from the tray, which he'd set on a small table. He pulled a second chair near the table. “I’ll have tea with you, if you'll be so kind as to pour,” he said.
She was glad it wasn't coffee.
“Elsa knows nothing about what was in the coffee,” he said. “I tasted what was left in the thermos. Bitter as hell. I asked her what she'd done with the picnic basket when she had it filled. Apparently it sat on a table in the foyer until the three of you were ready.” Jules watched her for a moment. “Eat your soup,” he said. “If you want me to have some just in case—”
“No, I'm—sure the soup isn't drugged,” Martha said, picking up a spoon. The soup was a delicious fish chowder and she ate it all.
“I imagine you won't be staying on,” Jules said as she spooned up the last mouthful.
Martha glanced at him. She'd been too foggy to feel very frightened over what had happened to her. “Do you want me to leave?” she asked quietly.
“I don't want anything to happen to you. I may as well be honest with you now. Josephine's last nurse, Miss Eccles, had a bad fall here in the house. She tripped coming down the main staircase one night. She—refused to call it an accident.”
Martha stared at him. His face was pale, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. Why was he so upset about the nurse?
“Is she—has she recovered?”
“She's still at St. Joseph's. It was a bad break—the femur shattered and she needed surgery. We hope she'll be able to walk eventually.”
“Was she—pushed?” Martha asked.
“I had myself convinced she was confused,” Jules said. “But now you....”
“I don't really remember much,” Martha said. “I was lying at the cliff edge when Sarah roused me enough that I could crawl back to safety. I don't know how I got there. The last I recall is watching Josephine pick up her book to read and feeling sleepy.”
“Josephine says she thought you were asleep at first, but when she couldn't wake you, she became frightened and ran to the house for help. Apparently Sarah had wandered off to pick berries?”
“Yes. Sarah wasn't there when I fell asleep.” Jules shook his head. “I didn't want to think Josephine had anything to do with Miss Eccles's accident. And I don’t want to blame her now. But...”
“Why do you?”
He glanced at her sharply. “She's not—normal. I've fought against the idea that she's deranged, but now I'm not so sure.”
“But why does it have to be Josephine who pushed the other nurse and drugged me?”
“The alternative is to imagine some outsider creeping around Black Tor—”
“With a grudge against nurses?” she interrupted tartly.
“No one in the house could be responsible for such things,” Jules said. “All the servants except Simon have been with us for years. And he's with my father.”
“Josephine's been involved in three accidents herself,” Martha reminded him. “Have you ever once considered them as anything other than suicide attempts?”
Jules stared at her. “Miss Eccles mentioned something similar,” he said. “She wondered about the last drug over-dose, when Josephine broke a window. Miss Eccles wasn't sure Josephine had taken the drugs on purpose. But what else is possible? Dr. Marston thinks she changed her mind after she swallowed them.”
“Do you know where Josephine was those two years she was away from Black Tor?” Martha asked. “I was amazed that any doctor would take on a case without full cooperation from the family.”
“It's not necessary to discuss that,” Jules said. “I'd appreciate it if you'd stay on until we can make other arrangements for Josephine.” He frowned. “Perhaps we shouldn't try to keep her at home any longer. She might be happier in—”
Martha clamped her lips together to prevent words of disagreement from pushing out. She must be careful with Jules. Was the money that Josephine could inherit any day now influencing him? Was he to blame, as Josephine thought?
“I'm not afraid to stay on here,” she said hastily. “Unless, of course, you prefer to dismiss me. I believe you accused me of being involved in some conspiracy to take your whale away. Perhaps you don't trust me.”
Jules waved his hand. “Oh, that. I'm sorry about flaring up. I talked to young Lowrey yesterday afternoon. He's on loan to our museum from the University of California at San Diego. He is interested in the whale, but only because of an article he's doing for a scientific journal on the orcas. I'm afraid I antagonized him with my suspicions. Seems a nice enough chap, but he didn't take to me at all.”
“Then you have no objection to me continuing to be Josephine’s companion?”
Martha leaned forward and touched Jules's arm. “Please don't make any hasty decisions about your sister. She seems to trust me, and I'd like to try to help her.”
Jules stood up and drew her to her feet. “I don't want you hurt,” he said. Then suddenly he bent his head and kissed her, drawing her against him. His lips were not gentle. She responded with an intensity that shocked her.
Then he was gone.
Her mind finally began working again. Were those the arms that had held her down two nights earlier? Was Jules the man who knew she'd had a life other than the one as Martha Jamison? And why had she defended Josephine when it was quite likely the girl had drugged her so that she could run off and meet Diego without interference? The cliff edge… Martha shuddered with the memory of the dark water on the rocks below. And now Jules was telling her about Miss Eccles’ accident.
Was she wrong about Josephine? Was Josephine dangerous?
Chapter Ten
Josephine roused her early--banging impatiently on her door. As soon as Martha let her in, she said, “I've eaten already. And I'm going to be with Cathleen most of the day. She's fixing some surprise games for the party, and Sarah and I are going to help. You can, too, if you want.”
Josephine's last sentence lacked enthusiasm, Martha thought. She dressed and went downstairs. Charn and Cathleen were at breakfast.
“You don't want to be mixed up in all the party doodads, Martha,” Charn said. “I can tell you're not the type at all.”
Was he mocking her?
“Besides, I've got all the help I need,” Cathleen said.
Martha glanced from one to the other. Both blond, attractive—and up to something. What?
“Would you like to catch a salmon?” Charn asked. “Jules told me to get you away from the house today, to see that you have a rest.”
Jules wants me to go? she wondered. To leave Josephine with Cathleen? Maybe he no longer trusts me.
Charn grinned. “I couldn't ask for a nicer assignment. If the fishing doesn't appeal to you, we could—”
“Oh, no. Salmon fishing is fine.” Then she looked at him warily. Could Charn have crept into her room that first night? Did he know about her past?
He threw his arms up, “I’m harmless. Really I am.” he said.
“I’ll be ready right after I eat,” she said. “What should I wear?”
“Old jeans, old shoes and a warm jacket,” Cathleen told her. “Josephine’s got any number of old jeans if you didn’t bring any. I have a jacket I paint in--quite beyond repair. You’re welcome to it.” Martha accepted the jacket and went upstairs to borrow jeans from Josephine.
“Salmon fishing?” Josephine asked. “You really want to go?” She looked at Martha curiously.
“Do you mind?”
“Not with Cathleen here.” She narrowed her eyes, gazing at Martha. “Sometimes I wish you hadn’t come at all.”
“If not me, there would have been another nurse,” Martha pointed out.
“Oh, I know. But I might not have liked her--I’m used to that. I liked you, though, right away. I should’ve known better.”
“Don’t you like me now?” Martha stopped rummaging in her
drawer and looked at her. “Have I done something to make you unhappy?”
“You know,” Josephine said.
Martha shook her head. “No, I don’t. Tell me.”
“What’s the use?” Josephine’s voice was sullen. “You’re prettier than I am. And--experienced and everything…” Astonished, Martha asked, “What on earth does that have to do with anything? Besides, I think you’re far prettier than I, whether you believe me or not. You’re a striking young woman.” Shaking her head violently, Josephine plopped down on Martha’s bed. “There’s something wrong with me!” she wailed. “There is, there is! And you…” She covered her face with her hands and began to cry. “I don’t want you here,” she sobbed.
“Just today or at all?” Martha asked.
“T-today.” Josephine hesitated. “At least I know about you now. You might as well stay. But not today. Go away from me today. You make me feel bad.”
Because you drugged me and pulled the blanket to the edge of the cliff? Martha wondered.
When Josephine had left the room, Martha changed into the borrowed jeans, which fit her a little too tightly, and a dark blue sweat shirt. Her tennis shoes were almost new, but they could be washed afterward, if need be. What was so dirty on a fishing boat?
“How old are you, anyway?” Charn said as they climbed into a yellow MG. “In that outfit you look like a teenager.”
“I'm twenty-eight.” She knew she looked younger with her hair down and a blue scarf tied to hold it back. But sometimes she felt a hundred years old. Surely Johann's last year should have etched a few permanent wrinkles on her face as it had on her mind. Johann, who had drugged her once, too, with a hallucinogen and then had laughed at her panic when she thought she was going mad. She'd never trusted him again.
“You haven't really fished for salmon until you've gone out in a dory,” Charn said.
“You mean those big rowboats?” Martha asked. “I don't think I'd like to go out on the ocean in one of those.”
“The ocean isn't on this side of the island.” Charn was nearing a dock and he waved his hand. “To the left is the Strait of Georgia and to the right Juan de Fuca Strait.”
“But the water's salty—it really is part of the Pacific Ocean,” Martha argued.
“We don't think of it that way,” Charn said. He stopped the MG and grabbed a jacket from the back.
Martha got out, with Cathleen's jacket over her shoulders. “Is this a private dock?” she asked. “Ours--well, Norman’s if you want to get technical. But he’s generous enough with possessions. Jules, too, for that matter. Of course money’s different.” Martha stared at the tall-masted white boat beside the wooden piles.
“The boat ’ s ours, too. Norman leases it out, though, so the captain can keep busy.” “THE ORCA” was painted on either side of the bow. The boat looked small compared to the ferry that had brought her to Vancouver Island, but at least it was larger than a dory. “The gear is all aboard,” Charn said. “Mike!” he called. A tall dark-skinned man in a stocking cap came from the boat’s small super-structure. “This is Martha Jamison,” Charn said. “A real beginner. Probably never saw a live salmon in her life.” He grinned at her. “Right?” She nodded. Mike gave he r a big smile. “Glad to have you aboard, Martha. Beginners are lucky, so we’ll strike a real hog today maybe.”
“Weather going to hold all right?” Charn asked. “Nothing snotty in sight. He raised his voice, “Get a hustle on, Vic, we’re shoving off.” A teenage boy appeared from dockside and climbed aboard THE ORCA.
“The boat’s named after that killer whale, isn’t it” Martha said to Charn as the boat eased out into the channel. “Are there any around here these days?”
“No these days about it--this is killer whale territory.”
“I just wondered about them facing extinction like some of the other whales.”
“Not the killer--they’re too smart. Ever see a live one.”
“ In a California Seaquarium once. Doing tricks.”
“Come on.” Charn pulled her along until they were standing by Mike. “Martha wants to see a killer whale. Think you can find a pod for her?”
Mike shrugged. “Maybe.”
“A pod?” Martha asked.
“They travel in packs, like wolves,” Mike said. “I used to ship out with an old Norwegian who called them 'fat choppers' because of the way they rush through a school of fish or seals and tear out hunks of meat, then come back and feed on the dying. As bad as sharks. Smarter, too.”
“Do they attack people?” Martha asked.
“No,” Charn said.
“Hell, yes!” Mike said. “They'll eat anything that's flesh and blood. Though I did hear one old Indian say they didn't like the taste of people and will spit them out.”
“I never heard of anybody being attacked,” Charn objected.
“Well, they don't come up underneath a swimmer and chomp off a leg like a shark,” Mike agreed. “But there've been fishermen who didn't come back. You still got that killer in the front hall at the house?”
Charn nodded.
“Give me the willies to live with it like you do.” Then he turned to Martha. “We have been catching mostly Chinook. You hook into one of them, Martha, and you think you've lost him, but you haven't. He's just sulking around as far down as he can get. After a while he'll come to life. Seen it take two hours to land a big one.”
“Don't salmon jump out of the water like other fish when they're caught?” Martha asked.
“Oh, a Coho will. He's a showman. Gives you a hard fight, but a short one. We get mostly Chinooks or kings right now. Some call them tyees, but that's local.”
“Are you a local?” she asked.
He grinned. “No way. Came from Alaska before you made her a state. Like it better down here—hell of a lot warmer.”
Martha watched the men check the bait on the trolling lines and took her place next to one of the poles, while Charn explained the mechanism. The water was a deep blue shading into brown. Gray-and-white gulls followed the boat.
Mike jerked his head at the birds. “They think we're going to hit lucky.”
Charn got the first strike but swore as he yanked on the pole in reflex. “Damn it—I know better. Scared him off.”
“Salmon's a nibbling fish,” Mike explained to Martha. “Got to let them chew around awhile before you can set the hook.”
Martha watched and waited, but nothing more happened, and she gradually turned away from the lines to look at the islands, dozens of them, all unbelievably green against the blue of sky and water. She leaned on the rail and breathed the cool wind. The sun touched her warmly and she felt at peace. Everything had been left behind at Black Tor. Josephine and her problems, even Martha's own past. There was only the sun and the water and —
She jerked upright. A triangular fin, black, cut through the waves, paralleling the boat but going faster. And another. Three! She reached over and clutched at Charn's sleeve. “Sharks!” she cried, pointing at the fins.
Charn began to laugh. “Why, those are what you wanted to see, Martha. Those are the killer whales.”
As he spoke, a black-and-white head broke through the water near the bow of the boat, hung there a second or two, then submerged. The fins moved off and soon were out of sight.
“No banquets here,” Charn said. “But he—it looked just like the one in California, like it was smiling,” Martha protested. “The one there lets her trainer put his head in her mouth.”
“Geez!” Mike said. “You couldn't pay me enough to do a thing like that.”
“Strike!” Vic yelled, and this time the Chinook was hooked. Charn and Mike brought the salmon in after almost an hour of work.
After catching two smaller ones, Charn asked Martha if she wanted to go back, and she nodded. “I guess I'm a hypocrite,” she said. “I like to eat salmon, but I hate to know they're on this boat with me, dying.”
“Head her in!” Charn called to Mike.
“Com
e along again, Martha,” Mike invited as she thanked him for the day. “We'll make you a real fisherman.”
She climbed into the MG with Charn. “I'm glad you asked me to go,” she said. “I do feel rested.”
Charn had been different on the boat, she thought. Not so flip, not trying so hard to make an impression. She liked him better.
He caught her glance. “Will you come out with me again?” he asked. “Not on the boat, but maybe for lunch or dinner?”
She hesitated. “I don't know when I can get away.”
“I'll fix it up with Jules ahead of time. Okay?”
“Well—yes, I'd like to.”
He took her hand. “Jules should have thought of someone like you before. To hear Natalie, you'd think nurses had to be fat old cows.” He smiled. “I could have been looking at you all this time, instead of that parade of crones.”
Martha moved her hand, dislodging his.
“And Josephine likes you, too,” he went on. “At least so far. She seemed to get along with one or two of the others, but it never lasted. Not that I’m anyone to warn a psychiatric nurse—but don't forget that Josephine is--well, not normal. She can go along for a while and you think she ought to be out with others her age, having a good time—but then something happens to jolt you back to remembering she's got this mental aberration.” Charn shook his head. “The devil of it is—she's so pretty. Jules doesn't dare let her loose.”
A Volkswagen sat in the drive by the front of the house. Charn pulled past it and parked.
Martha thanked him again, then walked into the foyer, where the huge bulk of the killer whale shocked her anew as she thought of another black-and-white head peering at the boat earlier.
“Martha! I thought I was going to miss you again,” a man's voice said.
She turned to see Bran Lowrey.
“Oh. Hello. I've just gotten back from salmon fishing.”
“So I heard. I came out today on the chance you'd be available to sightsee with me, but—”
“You know I have commitments,” she said.
“Mr. Garrard was kind enough to talk to me again,” Bran said. His voice held a note of—what? Distaste?
